


Be Sure Your Sin Will Find You Out

by esteri_ivy



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, But I Can't Emphasize Enough This Is Some SMUT, Catelyn Is Petty AF, Catholic School, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Horny Teenagers, Jealous Jon Snow, Jon's A Bit Questionable In This One, Masturbation, Not In A Terrible Way But He's Not Winning Any Awards, Possessive Jon Snow, R Plus L Does Not Equal J, Unbeta'd Because I Was Late Finishing This
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-18 19:06:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19340752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteri_ivy/pseuds/esteri_ivy
Summary: Jon has sinned, and he's not sorry. // Seven Deadly Sins challenge for Day 1 of Jonerys Week. Catholic school. Possessive/Darkish Jon. Smut. AU.





	Be Sure Your Sin Will Find You Out

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time participating in Jonerys week as anything other than a reader, so I'm very excited! Some blatant artistic liberties taken here. The characters are 18, but this is student-age explicit smut with a side helping of Catholicism, so if you’re not comfortable with that, please don’t read. LOOK AT THE TAGS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

* * *

**I. GLUTTONY**

For what they paid in tuition, St. Baelor Academy really didn’t do much with classroom aesthetics.

Jon Snow eyed the white walls, generic whiteboard and bland desks of his homeroom with a specific distaste he reserved solely for school. 

He was bored. Painfully bored. 

That sort of crushing, paralyzing boredom that consumed you from the inside-out… and it was only his first day back.

He’d been looking forward to his senior year for exactly one reason: When the year ended, he’d never have to step foot in this shithole again.

Just nine months lay between him and sweet freedom.

No more navy uniform jackets. No more living at home under his father’s wife’s eye, her mouth twisted in a perpetual grimace whenever she looked at him. No more mandatory confessions or prayers before class.

But homeroom hadn’t even formally begun yet, and he was already bored.

He had taken his customary seat — 18 years old, and they still had to sit alphabetically — but Robb was still in the front of the room catching up with people.

Sam Tarly wandered in, waving at him brightly. He had to be one of the cheeriest people Jon had ever met. It was incomprehensible. No matter what happened — and there were plenty of rumors; Sam’s father Randyll wasn’t known to be a particularly kind man — Sam always managed to have a smile on his face.

He nodded his head at him, swiveling to chat as Sam dropped into his seat, two back from Jon.

“Hey mate,” Sam said. “Have a good summer?”

_No_.

He’d spent the summer the same as always, being needled by Theon (who had more money than manners but was unfortunately his brother’s best friend), being glared at by Catelyn (who, 18 years later, still seemed hellbent on blaming him for her husband’s infidelity) and arguing with Ygritte (who had been one of his closest friends, before the colossal meltdown of their attempted relationship).

But none of that was Sam’s fault. With as much enthusiasm as he could muster, he replied in the affirmative. Distantly, he heard the first warning bell go off in the hall.

He’d been listening to Sam explain _at length_ what he planned to write his college admissions essay on when the sound of a clearing throat came from behind him.

“Excuse me,” the voice said — a clear, feminine voice. He turned his head toward the sound and when his eyes landed on her, Jon was stunned.

She was without a doubt the most gorgeous girl he’d ever seen.

Her skin was smooth and clear, her hair in loose curls — pale, silver-blonde, nearly white. He was sure she must’ve dyed it to get hair that color. Sansa had definitely said something about silver hair being a trend with beauty bloggers. He’d listened to her complain for weeks when Catelyn refused to let her dye her own. 

The girl’s plaid uniform skirt was shorter than it should have been, landing well above her knee and displaying shapely, smooth legs. 

But most of all, it was the girl’s eyes. They were purple.

His tie was itchy. His shirt suddenly felt like it was made of ants, all of his skin was buzzing. He could feel himself gaping at her like an unhinged idiot.

“I think I’m supposed to sit behind Robb Stark; is that you?” she asked him.

If he thought he could’ve gotten away with it, he’d have said yes. She looked the way he had imagined angels did when he was a child. But right now, her eyes were wide and a bit nervous. With a jolt, Jon realized he hadn’t replied.

“No. No — I’m, uh, Snow,” he said. “Jon.”

_For fuck’s sake._ What kind of embarrassing shit was that? Snow Jon?

“Oh,” she said. She looked down at her paper again, and he realized it must have been a desk chart. “Then I guess maybe you’re in my seat?” she asked Sam. She sounded apologetic.

It wasn’t necessary. Sam practically fell over himself to jump up and move his things. Jon took a moment to glance to the front of the room, where Robb was still blissfully distracted chatting with Margaery Tyrell.

Jon had been a sullen boy since childhood. That had improved a bit with age, but only barely. His brother was always the charming one; girls had always preferred Robb over his grouchy half-brother. And Robb was going to sit between them.

The burning need that Jon felt to talk to this girl was insane — he had to win her over before Robb could, had to deprive others of her attention. He needed to consume her, all of her, until there was nothing left for the others.

He shoved down the depraved thoughts.

“What’s your name?” he asked her as she took Sam’s — her — seat. “You’re new here, yeah?”

She gave him a small smile, and his stomach folded in on itself.

“Daenerys Targaryen,” she replied. A strange name, but fitting. “And yes — my family just moved to Westeros, so I transferred here.”

That wasn’t too surprising. She had a small trace of an accent. It wasn’t terribly noticeable, but Jon felt confident that if she’d been on this continent before today, he’d have managed to hunt her down.

“Good stuff. Where from?” he asked.

She smiled a bit wider and relaxed into her seat, pulling a thin necklace from between her collar. A tiny, metal cross.

“My family’s from Valyria.”

Now, _that_ was far.

He tried uselessly to make some small talk — how was she liking Westeros so far, when had she arrived. In the hall, the second bell rang.

Robb would make his way over soon, and then he would have to share her attention.

“What’s your first class?” he asked desperately. She looked down at the paper in front of her again and bit on a plump lip. Behind her, he could see Sam eyeing him curiously.

Then she looked back up at him, and Sam vanished with the rest of the class.

“History with Mr. Rivers?” she asked, more than answered.

He glanced down at his own class list and felt a vicious triumph build in his chest.

“Me, too. Can walk you there if you want, so you don’t get lost.”

She rewarded him with one of the prettiest smiles he’d ever seen.

He’d asked just a little too late — right as her reply was about to come, his brother’s body dropped into the seat behind him, partially blocking her from his view.

Robb wasted almost no time, introducing himself with that friendly confidence that made him so well-liked. And Daenerys seemed to be among that number; within seconds, she was grinning and chatting with Robb. He tried not to feel too morose… until Robb looked down at her calendar and offered to walk her to her first class.

He’d resigned himself already to Robb’s victory when her reply came —

“Actually, Jon’s offered to walk me already, but thank you anyway.”

He thought he might have seem Robb’s eyebrows raise a fraction in his peripheral, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Daenerys and her beaming face.

***

Jon could not believe his luck. They’d had every morning class together.

He was currently escorting her to lunch; Daenerys had grown more comfortable with him over the course of the morning and had even approached him at the end of last period.

“I don’t know where the cafeteria is,” she said. “Any chance you can lead me there?”

She’d smiled at him prettily, and he tried to tamp down the preening feeling inside his chest.

Everyone they passed stared at her — she was new and exotic and breathtaking, and he was just some irritable guy whose claims to fame were his friendship with people more popular than him and scoring the winning goal at last year’s soccer state championship.

And then her voice interrupted his thoughts:

“Thanks for bringing me everywhere. I feel a bit bad that you’ve been stuck as my tour guide all morning.” Her cheeks were a bit pink, and she was biting her lip again. He wanted it between his own teeth.

“I don’t mind, really,” he said. The conversation cut off there as they arrived, and Jon led her to the table he’d sat at since freshman year. He’d resigned himself to the fact that he was voluntarily taking Daenerys to a place his brother and their friends would be, but he was pretty sure he’d rather have just sat somewhere with her, where there was no one else to siphon her attention.

When they made it to the table, there was only really one seat open in the middle of the bench. He eyed Sam sharply, and Sam (bless him) budged over without another word. Jon tucked Daenerys in between the two of them and introduced her quickly to everyone else.

“You met Sam and my brother Robb earlier,” he said, pointing as he went. “This one’s Theon, that’s Edd, and that one’s Gendry.”

Jon tried to ignore the irritating way that Theon ran his eyes over her. He was almost thankful when his brother interrupted.

“How’s your first day going?” Robb asked.

Daenerys’s face split open in another blinding grin, and it physically winded him. 

She was so _pleasant_.

“It’s been great. Jon’s been making sure I don’t get lost since we’ve had all our classes together so far.”

Theon snorted from across the table. 

“Can’t be that great if you’ve been stuck hanging out with Snow,” he said. Daenerys’s smile faltered for a moment, and then Gendry chimed in — “She’s probably just relieved she didn’t get stuck with your ugly mug.”

Edd, Sam and Robb all laughed and Daenerys smiled nervously, turning to look at him.

He nudged her a bit with his shoulder.

“Nah, she’s just happy because she found romance. Mr. Mormont practically proposed to her in our languages class earlier,” Jon said.

Her smile became more relaxed, and he was somewhat terrified at what making her happy did to his chest.

“He’s just excited that I speak Valyrian. There’s not many in Westeros who do.”

The table devolved into a passionate debate about whether or not Mr. Mormont was going to leave his wife for Daenerys.

All too soon, Robb and Edd were finishing up. They stood to leave, and Robb looked at him. “You done, Jon?” he asked.

In theory, yes. He’d eaten an extremely large breakfast that morning. It was a Stark family tradition to have a giant meal the morning they returned to school, and he’d grabbed something small for lunch — more out of habit than actual hunger. 

He’d polished the snack off quickly, but Daenerys, who had been answering questions for part of the period, had a decent amount of food to go.

He was so, so full, but there was no way he was depriving himself of her company any earlier than necessary.

“Nah, go ahead without me,” he said. “I’m still hungry. Might grab some fries.”

Robb seemed skeptical — probably picturing the four pancakes Jon had shoved down his throat just a few hours earlier — but nodded and left.

He’d grabbed fries as quickly as possible. There were only 10 or so minutes left of lunch, and he wasn’t keen to leave Theon alone with her for too long.

He dropped himself back into his seat beside her, trying to ignore the sick, too-full feeling in his stomach as he ate.

She finished her food finally, and he almost cried in relief when she turned to him and asked if she could steal a few of his fries.  


* * *

**II. SLOTH**

Friday, at last. 

Jon had only logged one full month of his senior year so far, but they were already drowning in work. He’d been good about getting it done, but between homework and college applications, he was starting to feel a bit strained.

Jon never much cared for Christianity, one way or another. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t attend a religious school at all. But Catelyn was extremely pious, and she had insisted that Robb be sent to a prestigious private school. His father had agreed on the condition that Jon be enrolled, too. Catelyn wasn't pleased to see that kind of tuition money spent on Jon; but by then, there was nothing to be done for it.

Privately, he wondered how she had convinced herself that Ned would be okay with putting one of his six children in a different school than the other five.

He did as well as he could in his classes, determined not to give her any legitimate complaints to take to his father. And he was successful, to an extent. He was in all honors courses, while Robb wasn’t. In fact, of all his friends, only Sam was.

Jon was smart. Maybe not brilliant like Daenerys seemed to be, but he was no fool.  Whatever her issues with him, even Catelyn couldn’t argue that Jon’s marks were bad.

The one blot on his report card, however, was religion class. The knowledge that it was what mattered most to her repelled him from it, and it was always a full letter grade lower than the rest of his marks. 

But there was nothing for it. His sole joy when it came to Catholicism was dicking around with Robb during Sunday mass — one of the few ways in which he could spite her back for treating him like some dirty stray that had soiled her carpets.

It was ironic, therefore, that religion had become his favorite class — albeit for less than holy reasons. It was the only class at St. Baelor in which they were allowed to pick their seats, and he sat directly behind Daenerys. For an hour each day, he could stare at her cascade of hair, the slope of her waist and hips, the slight lift of her lazily tucked Oxford shirt when she raised her hand. Her perfume would waft into his nose and fog his brain.

And each day, she would drop down in front of him a few minutes before class started, turn to chat with him, and lay her arms on his desk.

He’d slouch forward too, and it was the closest he got to be to her.

Daenerys looked a bit different today. Her eyes popped — her plush lips looked darker than usual. He squinted at her face for a moment before it came to him.

“You’re wearing makeup?” he asked suddenly.

She flushed a little bit and nodded.

“Why?” he asked, realizing late that it probably sounded rude.

“Just felt like it,” she said lightly. “Why? Does it looked bad?”

He snorted, and for a moment, she seemed affronted.

“I don’t think it’s possible for you to look bad,” he said.

She smiled at him, but before she could respond, Brother Sparrow entered the room. With an apologetic grin, she whispered a quick thank you and turned to face forward.

He spent nearly the entire hour tuned out from their overly zealous instructor, choosing instead to question whether he’d weirded her out by saying something like that. 

He was so caught in his thoughts that he jumped when the bell signaled the end of class.

It was their last lesson of the day, and he’d been prepared to get out of the building as fast as possible. Perhaps if he left before she could remember his comment, he could live down the embarrassment. 

Mission failed, he thought, as Daenerys turned to him.

“I think I might head to the library for an hour or two and bang out this assignment,” she said breezily. “Want to join me?”

He couldn’t think of anything less appealing than the school library on a Friday afternoon. But he couldn’t think of anything more appealing than hanging out with her — for once, without 30+ other students around them.

He found himself nodding stupidly, and before he knew it, they were seated by the window. She was working intently, scratching away at her assignment. He’d gotten as far as pulling out the worksheet, but the afternoon sun was lighting her face and Jon was having trouble looking away.

It seemed that having her directly in front of him was not a productive way to get work done.

He tried focusing on anything else, eyes finding her books. She had a pristine Bible on the desk between them. Small, colorful tabs stuck out of the top like daisies. Pink, orange, pink, pink, blue, orange. He wondered if she chose the tabs’ colors for a specific reason or if she had pulled them at random. 

He wasn’t sure how long he had been thinking about it when her voice drew him out.

“Are you working at all?” she asked with a laugh.

He felt his heart tug and wondered if he would ever get used to the sight. He was beginning to think he wouldn’t.

“Nah. You’re the smart one here, Daenerys,” he said with an easy grin. “I’m just gonna coast on my charm and personality.”

“So you’re planning to fail everything, then?” she asked innocently. He furrowed his brow for a minute, surprised.

And then her lips tilted up and she smirked — _smirked_ — at him wickedly.

Jon wondered if he’d made a grave miscalculation by befriending her, because he was fairly certain the knowledge that she might have a bit more bite than he had thought was going to ruin him.

“Come off it,” he said, pulling out of his slouch to lean forward on the desk. “I’ve got to at least merit a low pass.”

She put her pen down at last and eyed him, considering. It took all his strength not to shudder under her appraisal.

“Maybe in gym class,” she replied after a moment.

***

He’d wolfed down his dinner hastily and gotten in a solid hour of video games with his sister Arya. Catelyn always groused that the games Arya played were too violent, but she’d been soundly overruled. Everyone in the family bar Sansa shared the game system, and eventually, she had stopped complaining about it.

He’d gone to his room after, ostensibly to get some homework done. But now that he was there, he really just wanted to take a nap.

And then there was a knock at his door — Robb.

He hadn’t tried too hard to hide how little he’d done. His math book lay open in front of him, along with a notebook, but there was nothing written on it except for the date.

Robb’s presence just gave him an excuse to delay further.  
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Daenerys lately,” Robb said casually. Too casually.

He looked up, and sure enough, his brother was eyeing him with calculated interest.

It made him feel defensive.

He didn’t like the idea of Robb contemplating his relationship with Daenerys.

“More than you spend with Margaery lately,” Jon said sharply. “She still got you on the hook?”

It worked.

Robb rapidly pivoted to his latest tribulations with Margaery Tyrell, who he’d been unsuccessfully trying to date for a year now.

Privately, Jon felt it was pretty obvious that Margaery would not say yes until Robb stopped flirting with other girls. But he’d suggested that before to no avail, and his brother’s distraction was useful enough right now, so he let Robb complain without interruption.

When his brother finally retreated to his own room, Jon pulled out his phone and felt his stomach drop.

**Daenerys T.  
** **New Message  
** **22 minutes ago**

He clicked his phone open rapidly — half-convinced she would be inviting him to do something that evening.

But no. She had texted him about an assignment.

He grinned in spite of himself. Daenerys was such an absolute nerd. He replied to her text with a reminder that it was a Friday night — within minutes, she texted him back.

**DT: Sorry, but not everyone can coast through school on personality.**

He laughed audibly. 

**JS: I thought I only was coasting through gym?**

He watched as the typing bubble appeared and vanished. For a moment, there was no reply. Finally:

**DT: I meant me. I’m coasting on personality. You need to just do your homework and hope for the best.**

He could imagine her grinning as she wrote it, proud of herself for the comeback. Unbidden, her sunlit face popped into his mind, and he felt his body stir.

Jon locked his door quickly and returned to the bed. He palmed himself over his pants, getting as far as removing them before he felt a spike of shame.

It was the same each time. Daenerys was empathetic, funny, intelligent and sweet. She was his friend.

She was also stunningly beautiful. 

He’d masturbated thinking of her too many times now, and every time he’d felt guilty for a moment or two. And then his mind would conjure a vision of her purple eyes staring up at him as her lips enveloped his cock, and his sense of morality would utterly leave him.

He tossed his math book to the side of his bed and began stroking himself, imagining her bent over in front of him in her tiny, tartan uniform skirt.

He came with a strangled moan, her name on his lips.

* * *

  **III. GREED**

Joffrey Baratheon was an annoying little shit, but he threw the best parties in the school. It wasn’t really a close contest either, given the trifecta he was working with: He had an enormous home, absentee parents and absolutely no shame.

No one was quite sure why Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister didn’t just get divorced — they clearly loathed one another. The rumor mill seemed to believe there was some kind of prenuptial issue keeping them together, but it made little sense to Jon. 

Neither was faithful; the entire school politely ignored the blank line on Gendry’s birth certificate where his father’s name should be.

Regardless, too much money and a penchant for wine meant that every so often, his mother would accidentally book a retreat the same week that her husband Robert was gone, instead of the alternating trips she typically aimed for.

It was sort-of sad when one stopped to think about it, but almost no one ever did, because whenever his parents left town at the same time, Joffrey hosted a rager.

He’d sent out a mass invite that morning — and Jon had practically rocket-propelled himself to homeroom, eager to catch her before anyone else could.

“Joffrey’s having a party tonight,” he said as he fell into step beside her.

“I saw,” she replied.

“It should be a good time,” he continued.

“You’re going?” She squinted her eyes at him. “You hate Joffrey.”

He steeled himself for his next words.

“I do, but they’re usually pretty fun. And I thought maybe you could come with me?” he asked.

She stopped walking abruptly and stared at him silently. He was wracked with a sudden fear that she was going to say no, or worse, ask if it was a date (and then say no).

“I live quite close to Joffrey,” she finally said, surprising him. “I wasn’t going to go, but I guess I could meet you there for a little bit.”

His face split open in a grin. 

“You won’t regret it,” he said.

Her cheeks were warmer than usual as she nodded, and he tried to tamp down the pleased, predatory feeling in his chest. 

They were nearly three full months into the year now, and just about every man in the school had commented on how attractive his friend was. Jon had come to the realization over the last few days that he needed to try and move things forward between them, before someone else found the nerve to.

If he were more faithful, maybe he’d have believed this party happening now was divine intervention. But somehow he doubted Jesus was concerned with whether or not he won over Daenerys Targaryen in a timely fashion.

***

She texted him when she arrived, but even without surprising him, she took his breath away.

Daenerys’s hair was tussled and loose, down from her usual braid, and she was wearing a form-fitting top with a short, loose skirt that barely reached passed her thighs. It wasn’t remotely warm enough for that outfit.

And yet, he felt like he was on fire.

“You look…” 

He searched for the right word. _Sexy. Edible. Like a wet dream_.

Those were all definitely bad ideas.

“Cold,” he finished stupidly. She looked somewhat disappointed in him, and he privately agreed. Even by his standards, that had been miserable.

“I’m not sure if I’m supposed to say thank you or not,” she replied drily.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve had a couple shots already. You look great.”

She gave him a real smile then, and it fogged his fuzzy brain at once.

“You do, too,” she said softly.

They had been chatting for a few minutes when a heavy clap on his shoulders jolted him.

“Snow. Beer pong. Now,” came Edd’s voice. He turned back to Daenerys who giggled.

“Go,” she said. “I’m going to catch up with Jeyne for a bit.”

He nodded at her and followed them over to the table.

***

Jon lost track of how long he’d played for; he was only certain that he’d won three straight games. He made his way to the kitchen and pulled another beer from the fridge, lost in a beer haze until an unpleasant voice caught his ear.

Ramsay Bolton was here, lurking around with J.J. Umber (who’d insisted forcefully on Jon Jr. to anyone who stood still long enough; he hadn't lived down his father referring to him as Smalljon after a football match). 

Ramsay held the distinction of being one of the few cretins who’d managed to be expelled from St. Baelor, though his father had convinced the school not to disclose why.

At the moment, however, Ramsay was describing in graphic detail what he’d do to some poor girl. He followed his leer and realized with horror that he was staring at Daenerys.

The threat cut through his fog sharply; there was no way that a sick fuck like that was going near her. 

Jon had never known precisely how many of the nasty rumors about the younger Bolton brother were true, but the vaguely maniacal grin on his face was disturbing enough that he didn’t particularly want to find out.

And now seemed as good a time as any to jump back in — across the room, some asshole with blue hair was making himself too cozy chatting with her. He grabbed a second bottle from the fridge and abandoned his pong table without another thought. 

He didn’t bother with the pretense of joining the conversation gracefully. He stepped too close to Daenerys, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her in toward him. She seemed fine with it, smiling up at him with a cheery “hey!” Across from them, the blue-haired guy glared.  He raised an eyebrow in reply.  


Daenerys looked more flushed than normal, carrying a nearly-empty bottle of beer and swaying gently under his arm to the music in the background.

“How’d your game go?” she asked.

“Won three,” he said. “Coming to steal you sounded more fun than a fourth.”

She laughed loudly, eyes mirthful. “I’m honored,” she said. His body felt light.

He could see Blue Hair’s frustrated face in his periphery and a perverse part of him relished it.

“I grabbed you another beer,” he said, passing one off to her. Tipsy Daenerys was easily delighted, it seemed.

She took a sip and his eyes followed as she wrapped her lips around the bottle. 

He turned to Blue Hair. “Thanks for keeping her company for me,” he said. “I’m Jon.”

He didn’t reach out to shake his hand, instead leaving his arm curled around her.

“Daario,” he replied through his teeth. Jon nodded, then turned back to Daenerys and leaned in toward her ear. 

“Will you come with me for a second?” he asked softly. “I just want to catch up with you for a few without everyone.”  
She tilted her head in his direction and apprised him. Then she nodded, excusing herself from an aggravated Daario without a second glance.

He took her hand and led her through a few hallways — he’d been to Joffrey’s enough to know roughly where he was going.  
Jon felt a bit manipulative, pulling her away from the crowd like this.

It was Daenerys’s first real house party since she’d moved to Westeros, and he was stealing her away to hoard for himself.

He’d brought them to the basement living room, which was blissfully empty at the moment. Upstairs, he could hear the dim racket of shouting, drunken idiots.

“This work for you, Ms. Targaryen?” he asked. 

Before he knew it, she’d dropped herself onto the couch and kicked off her heels — tucking her feet beneath her. Her swishy skirt had somehow largely stayed in place, resting stubbornly on her thighs. But a small corner had ridden up, exposing more of her smooth skin.

Jon’s mouth was completely dry just thinking about it.

“You can call me Dany, if you want,” she said. Her cheeks were tinged a shade of rose, and he noticed that her chest was flushed the same color.

He was so green.

He made his way over and dropped down next to her, throwing one arm on the top of the couch behind her. He took a large sip to hide his nervousness. Jon had never made a fool of himself drinking before, but there was a first time for everything.

“Dany,” he said, testing the name on his tongue. It felt good. “I like it… sorry I dragged you away from everyone.”

She smiled at him again — she was always smiling at him.

“I don’t mind. It’s not a chore to spend time with you.” She was going to break him open one of these days.

“I think you’re about the only person who feels that way,” he laughed. She stared at him again, as she had upstairs. But this time, her brow was furrowed as though he were a puzzle box, some complex curiosity.

“Plenty of people feel that way. You have a lot of friends,” she said finally. A breeze entered her voice. “And girls do, too. I think Jeyne Poole and Wynafryd Manderley only talk to me at all so they can ask me about you.”

He snorted. “You sure they weren’t asking about Robb? Wynafryd’s a family friend. She’s been trailing after him since we were kids.”

Her reply was a bit clipped: “Unless Robb’s first name is also Jon, it was definitely you.”

He wasn’t the best at reading girls, but Daenerys — Dany — seemed tense. 

“Well, I don’t know what to say, then,” he shrugged. “What sort of things were they asking?”

It was clearer now that he was looking for it. Her sweet voice was steely.

“Mostly what sort of girls I think you like. They spend a lot of time talking about how sexy they think you are. Wynafryd explained to me in great detail about how she’d been worried when you and I became friends that we would start fucking.”

Jon choked on the sip of beer he’d been taking, the concept of Dany talking about fucking him too jarring. He wondered if he was asleep; vulgar Dany only ever came to him in dreams.

“She asked you—” He couldn’t even finish.

Daenerys seemed to realize something — though what, he had no idea. But she transformed, and suddenly, she was a temptress, lids lowered at him like he was her prey.

“And here I thought you just weren’t interested,” she laughed. She took another swig of beer and set the bottom down on the table, leaning forward to close in on his personal space. 

She was so close that her hair brushed his side. “Do you want me, Jon? Or is Wynafryd still in the game?”

The only sounds were the distant shrieking and laughing of their classmates upstairs and their own exhalation.

Jon craved her like a man dying of thirst. He’d dreamed of kissing her so many times that his brain couldn’t quite handle the fact that it was about to happen.

The realization that she might be every bit the seductress his brain had made her out as rocked him — he wondered if maybe he’d seen something of it in her after all.

And here she was, too close, practically crawling toward him on her hands and knees. Her thin silver cross necklace dangled out in front of her chest. The feeling inside him snapped.

He wanted to take and take and take and take from her until he’d taken everything he could, until there was nothing left, because she was his. _And he was hers._

He closed the gap between them, unable to wait any longer, and for one short moment, their lips touched. His body felt like it was on fire — her skin was burning him alive. They pulled apart and stared at each other for a second, winded.

And then they were kissing again, harder this time, and it was making his head spin. He wrapped a hand in her hair and pulled her into his lap. He felt drunker than he was, he could taste her — cheap beer and candy gloss — and he couldn’t believe this was happening.

Her breasts were squashed against him. He wanted to rip her shirt off with his teeth.

There was a crash at the door, and it fell open with a loud smack against the wall. Jon and Daenerys jumped away from each other, lips swollen.

It was Loras Tyrell and Renly Baratheon — Joffrey’s uncle, who’d been a bit of a late-in-life surprise.

They were kissing, laughing through it until they caught sight of him and Daenerys on the couch, and then they broke apart and the silence turned painfully awkward.

Everyone in school knew Loras and Renly were seeing each other, and no one actually cared — maybe a teacher or two, if they’d known about it. Probably Brother Sparrow, who was a bit of a zealot at the best of times. But the student body at-large had long since gotten over it.

And as far as Jon was concerned, that part of the Bible could take a hard pass.

He glanced at Daenerys and noted that she seemed a bit shy to have been caught.

He stood and offered her his hand (she straightened her skirt), and he led her passed Loras and Renly, who still hadn’t said a word. He nodded at Renly, but as they crossed the doorway to the stairwell, Loras grabbed his arm tightly.

“Margaery doesn’t know,” he said quietly. “I know your brother is always chatting with her. Please don’t say anything.”

Jon had no intention of mentioning anything to Robb that had transpired in this basement, never mind Loras and Renly. 

Daenerys chimed up behind him. “I won’t say a word,” she said.

“And I won’t say anything either,” Jon added. “But you should have more faith in your sister. If I can tell, she probably can. And she loves you more than anything.”

Loras nodded sharply and let go, and Jon followed Daenerys back upstairs without another word, one hand low on her back. 

When they made it into the hallway upstairs, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her in for another deep kiss.

She threaded her fingers through his hair, but all too soon pulled back.

“I should probably get going,” she murmured. 

Every part of his body protested against the thought. He pushed her back against the wall for a moment, foreheads touching. Her body was flush against his.

“You could stay,” he whispered.

He felt desperate, and she was calm. 

“I’ve got to get home,” she said as she kissed him softly one more time. She pulled away and headed toward the door through the throng of people.

He followed for a moment, dazed. His lips felt swollen.

He could feel Wynafryd Manderley and Jeyne Poole watching him from across the room, gobsmacked.

Dany’s perfume was still clinging to his skin.

* * *

  **IV. PRIDE**

Dany was pissed at him — though in fairness, he deserved it.

After she left Joffrey’s party, he’d gone home in a daze. It was like all the color in the room had been sucked out of it once she was gone.

Everything was boring.

Everyone who wasn’t her was a distraction.

Even his beer tasted like shit compared to the softness of her mouth.

He’d passed out the moment his head hit his bed and dreamed of her crawling toward him, this time uninterrupted. He woke up covered in his own ejaculate like a boy having his first wet dream.

It was humiliating. 

He could barely go five minutes without thinking of her, and she had walked away casually the night before — hadn’t even looked back at him as she left.

He needed to regain some control of himself, some dignity. 

So he’d abstained from texting her all weekend. He hadn’t replied to the “hey” she’d sent him Saturday. Not even the “You alright?” from late Sunday. 

At the time, it seemed dreadfully important. In retrospect, it had been a big mistake.

She’d arrived at homeroom Monday morning just seconds before the bell, brushing by him without a glance.

He wanted to turn around and talk to her, but Mr. Glover was in a particularly foul mood and snapped at him when he’d tried.

Jon resolved that he’d catch her when homeroom ended, but it seemed she’d been ready for him to try. She was out of her seat within moments of the bell, streaking away in a flash of silver hair and plaid.

He ignored Robb’s voice calling out to him as he followed her, but by the time he made it out, she was entering the girl’s restroom.

_Fuck_. 

They had languages first. Mr. Mormont loved her — she could be late, and he wouldn’t say a word. Jon, on the other hand… 

He swore, out loud this time, and stalked off to class, determined to catch her at some point during the day.

But it proved harder than he’d believed possible. Dany seemed determined to avoid him. She’d skipped into languages several minutes late, as he’d suspected she would. A few minutes before class ended, she’d asked for a note to visit the nurse.

She arrived at their next class just after the bell _again_ and had flatly ignored him when he’d called out to her at the end.

The following period was math, one of the few they didn’t share.

And then she skipped lunch entirely.

Jon didn’t want to text her; he was pretty sure she’d be even more offended if his apology came via cellphone. But he wasn’t sure what else to do.

He already looked a bit like an idiot, chasing her around the halls while she practically sprinted away from him.

Maybe if he gave her the day — let her calm down a bit before he tried approaching her again…

He’d thought that might be the solution to his troubles, but Tuesday morning proved it had been an even bigger fuck up. 

Dany seemed to take him giving up Monday afternoon as a second insult and had iced him out even worse than she had the day prior.

By the end of Wednesday, he was so desperate to talk to her that he did text her — a rambling paragraph apologizing for everything he could think of. She’d replied with a middle finger emoji and then shut her phone off.

He’d turned to Sansa then, a bit of a last resort, as he didn’t love talking to his sister about a hookup. She’d side-eyed him so hard that for a moment, he’d seen Catelyn.

“I don’t know, Jon,” she’d said, exasperated. “Tape an apology to her locker. Bring her flowers. Broadcast an apology over the intercom.”

Sansa watched too many rom-coms.

“I can’t bring her flowers,” he said. “It’s high school, Sansa.”

She sniffed at him derisively, tossing her hair behind her shoulder.

“Your funeral,” she said. “But just so you know, everyone’s noticed you two aren’t speaking. If you let this go on much longer, someone else is going to ask her to formal, and I’m not going to listen to you whine about it.”

***

He’d blown off Sansa’s words at the time, but by Friday, he had a horrible suspicion that she was right. 

Jon hadn’t realized that the other guys in school had thought they were together. But now that it was clear they weren’t, the vultures were descending.

It was infuriating.

He finally caught her at the end of school that day, waylaid in the parking lot by Harrold Hardyng, of all people. He was one of the most pompous assholes Jon had ever had the misfortune to meet. 

When he at last drew close enough to hear their discussion, his vision went red.

“—Figured now that you’re not with that bastard loser Snow, you’d go to formal with me? I’ll even spring for a room after.”

Later on, he’d remember that she had looked appalled at the words.

But only much later because he’d strolled right up to Hardyng and picked a fight.

Jon hated when people pointed out the circumstances of his birth, but he’d gone absolutely blind with rage at the thought of anyone taking Dany to a hotel room.

And then Hardyng had made the critical mistake of swinging at him. He wasn’t a terrible fighter, but Jon was better. He’d gotten one good swing at Jon, knocking him hard in the side of the head, before Jon decked him in the face.

Hardyng dropped like a stone, shrieking that he was going to tell his father.

Jon staggered. He could hear Dany saying something to him, but the noise was distorted. She sounded like she was yelling from the bottom of a well.

He realized dimly that he’d taken a bigger hit than he thought.

She’d marched him right back into the school and into the nurse’s office.

The school nurse, Talisa, was young. Probably only a few years older than them.  
Robb had a fierce crush on her.

She sat him down and hurried to the closet to get supplies, leaving him dazed and alone for a moment with a wide-eyed Dany.

He was pretty sure he had a concussion.

“Sorry Dany,” he said stupidly.

“Why would you get in a fight, you idiot?” she asked. Her voice was high and tight.

He hadn’t heard it in days. It sounded lovely.

He shrugged, unable to answer.

Talisa re-entered the room, and then Dany was gone.

* * *

  **V. ENVY**

Robb was miserable. He was still smarting from Margaery’s latest slight — she’d agreed to go to the winter formal with _Joffrey Baratheon_ , of all people.

He’d dragged Jon to the school gym during their lunch period that Monday for what he claimed would be a workout session. Instead, it felt more like therapy, with Robb repeatedly hitting the punching bag and complaining about his lack of female companionship.

“Been driving myself spare trying to find the right way to ask Margaery, and she’s already got a date. Half the girls in the school do. Sam’s bringing Gilly. Edd’s girlfriend is coming. Hell, even Theon says he’s got a date. And Wynafryd Manderley’s been telling anyone who’ll stand still long enough that you’ve asked her.”

Jon was startled. 

“Wynafryd said what?” he asked sharply.

This, if nothing else, seemed to get through his brother’s irritation. He even stopped his assault on the bag for a moment.

“That you asked her to formal. I was a bit surprised honestly. Thought you’d be asking Daenerys. But Wynafryd’s a good-looking girl, too.”

Jon was so stunned that for a minute, he didn’t know how to respond.

“But I didn’t,” he finally said. “I didn’t ask her at all.”

Robb looked surprised, and then it morphed into something distinctly uncomfortable.

“Er,” he started, “does she know that?”

Jon just stared back at him in disbelief. 

“Of course she knows that I didn’t ask her!” he said. “How could she _not_?”

Robb held his hands up in surrender. 

“Alright, I was just surprised. I mean, everyone’s aware of it. Hell, I heard from Loras, of all people.”

That was bad.

That was very bad.

Because if everyone knew, then that meant Dany would, too.

_Shit_.

He ran his hands through his hair with a frustrated snarl and turned to leave. He could hear Robb calling over to him, asking where he was going.

“To figure out who the fuck Wynafryd is telling that I asked her out!”

He’d showered and dressed in record time, stomping through the school to her locker without delay.

When he reached Wynafryd, she smiled at him coyly, seeming oblivious to the look on his face.

“Why are you telling people I asked you to formal?” he spat at her.

The grin slid off her face, and behind her, Jon saw Jeyne’s eyes widen.

“I, I thought maybe we could go,” she said, stuttering. “You still don’t have a date; everyone knew that. And it’s this weekend.”

“You do realize that I’m mad about Daenerys, don’t you?” he asked caustically. “Like, you have noticed that?”

Her eyes crinkled, and for one short moment, Jon felt bad for being so brusque. Then she started speaking again, and the words were so ugly that his sympathy fled.

“She hasn’t spoken to you in more than a week,” she said. “You’ve been chasing her around nonstop, and she won’t even look at you. I might not be Daenerys Targaryen, but at least I want to be around you.” She sniffed derisively. “Besides, she’s already got a date.”

A thick coil of fury sprung from him, wrapping itself around his neck, throttling him. And then the fury gave way to something more painful.

Jealousy.

He was so fucking jealous.

“Who’s she going with?” he snarled. Wynafryd seemed irritated, petulant even.

“No idea,” she said coolly. “I just heard her taking to Roslin Frey in the bathroom, and she said someone had asked her.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

Jon left without another word,so frustrated that he felt like howling.

He found Daenerys in the library, studying at their table.

She looked as beautiful as ever, two buttons undone on her blouse, blonde hair tied back in a messy, high ponytail. 

From across the room, he watched as she brushed some of her lip balm across her mouth, and he could taste the candy gloss like a phantom.

He missed her so much it fucking hurt.

And she was just going with someone else like he didn’t matter at all. He stalked across the room until her reached her — his bag clattered to the ground loudly as he dropped into the chair. 

She met his gaze, but her eyes were cold and closed off.

“Who are you going to formal with?” he asked sharply.

She put her pen down on her notepad and sat back in her seat, unperturbed.

“I can’t imagine why that’s any of your business,” she said. 

A sentence designed to irritate him. Dany knew him too well. 

He dropped his voice lower, gravelly: “You know damn well that it is.”

She grabbed her necklace for a moment, one hand twitching imperceptibly. And then she was composed again.

“It might have been,” she said. “Now Wynafryd’s your business.” She crossed her arms.

“The last thing I give a fuck about is Wynafryd Manderley,” he whispered furiously. “I don’t know why she thought it was a good idea to tell people that I asked her to formal, and I literally don’t care. I just miss you, Dany,” he said.

Her eyes softened for a heartbeat, and then she hardened again.

“Most girls do tell others when they’re asked on a date,” she said sharply.

“You’re not understanding me, Dany,” he said. “I didn’t ask Wynafryd to the formal. At all. We aren’t going together. I don’t know why she told people we are.”

It seemed he’d finally surprised her, because when her voice came out next, she forgot to freeze it.

“I — what?” she asked. She looked like she’d been slapped.

“I didn’t want to go with anyone but you,” he said. He was tired, so tired.

And miserable.

And Jesus Christ, he just wanted to go home. He grabbed his bag and walked out, leaving her staring behind him.

* * *

  **VI. WRATH**

Theon. Fucking. Greyjoy. 

Seriously? That’s who Dany had agreed to go to winter formal with?

He’d thought it was a bit of a joke when Robb told him the afternoon of the dance. He’d said it so apologetically, like he wasn’t saying something outrageous.

Why would Daenerys Targaryen indulge Theon Greyjoy?

But Robb had apparently been telling the truth, and Jon felt like he’d been punched. She’d shown up at his home, and for one wild minute, he’d been positive she was coming to surprise him.

She looked ethereal.

Her dress was long, light purple chiffon… sheer enough that the outline of her body was somewhat visible. There were cuts in the sides where nothing but a see-through fabric lay, revealing her curves. The neckline dipped low enough in the front that he could see the top of her breasts, full and smooth-looking. His brain’s entire blood supply had dropped to his cock instantly.

“Dany,” he breathed out — it was all he could manage.

Her cheeks were rosy, and for a moment, she seemed pleased by his reaction. He was sure he hadn’t imagined her eyes widening a fraction as she looked at him. Then whatever spell had clutched her broke, and her eyes hardened.

“I’m here to meet Theon,” she said coolly. 

It seemed his blood had chosen to remain down south, because his brain wasn’t functioning well.

“Why?” he’d asked stupidly.

She raised an eyebrow at him curiously.

“To take photos. People generally do that with their dates,” she said.

His brain had turned off for a moment, stunned that this was actually happening, and Dany used that opportunity to slide passed him and into the hall, where his friends and their dates all stood.

Robb had ended up asking Roslin Frey, who Jon privately thought was a good fit for his brother’s temperament. Jon, on the other hand, was less excited.

He’d agreed to bring some girl named Val from another school. Apparently, she was friends with Edd’s girlfriend. Val was gorgeous, with long blonde hair and strong features. She looked like a winter queen in white. But Jon wasn’t remotely interested.

And then Dany had shown up to take photos with Theon.

_Theon_.

And the smug prick had actually had the nerve to wag his eyebrows at him.

Dany had taken one look at Val, and her mouth stretched so thin that he could barely see her lips.

Jon had thought that nothing could be worse than watching her pose and smile prettily next to the jackass who’d mocked him a thousand times in front of her. But that was until they actually arrived at the venue.

The student council had outdone themselves, renting an enormous ballroom in an hotel that was once a private residence.

Theon seemed to have kept his date quiet for so long purposefully, because now Jon was stuck at the same table as them, watching as Theon draped his arm over Dany’s chair.

To her immense credit, Val hadn’t been angry at the slight of her date seething over another woman. She had found the entire thing hysterical.

“I’m sorry for laughing,” she’d said, “but you two could not possibly be more obvious.”

When they were finished eating, she stood and wrapped an arm around his chest, leaning in to his ear.

Across the table, Dany’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m going to go hang out with some people I recognize,” Val said. “If you decide you want to dance, come find me.”

He grabbed her wrist briefly and nodded, committing to memory that he owed Edd big time.

And then Dany and Theon made their way to the dance floor, and he determined that this, specifically this, was going to be the worst part of his evening: watching her grind her ass against Theon Greyjoy while his fingers explored her curves.

He’d never longed for Brother Sparrow’s presence a day in his life, but right now, he’d have done just about anything for that cranky old asshole to descend on them, pry them apart and remind them _loudly_ to leave room for the Holy Spirit.

Eventually, she detangled herself from Theon, heading toward the bathroom.

Jon took the opportunity.

When she came out, he was leaning against the wall, waiting.

“Sure looks like you’re having fun,” he said. There was ice beneath the surface of his voice, hard and dangerous.

“Your date is lovely,” she replied. There was fire beneath hers. “Fan of blondes, are you?”

And then they both snapped. They were yelling at each other now, actually yelling. His blood roared in his ears.

Dany looked furious. He wasn’t proud of what it did to his body: He’d been hard pretty much since she arrived at his home earlier that evening. His rage at watching the two of them had managed to dim some of his desire initially, but its efficacy seemed to be wearing off. The longer they stood in front of each other arguing, the more his body recognized that he was mere inches from her.

“You kissed me and then ignored me,” she shouted. “Like I was some random you met that night. And then after what, two lazy attempts you just completely gave up? Next time I see you, you’re brawling in the parking lot over me, and then I hear you asked Wynafryd fucking Manderley—”

He cut her off.

“And I told you, I didn’t ask Wynafryd to come here. That’s why she’s not my date. I’m curious, though,” he said, “did you purposely decide to come here with a person who you knew would hurt me, or was it just a happy accident?”

He thought for a moment she might slap him. At the very least, scream at him. Instead, she took a deep breath. When she spoke, her voice was controlled fury.

“You’re an idiot, Jon Snow,” she said. And then she stalked off toward the exit.

* * *

  **VII. LUST**

Dany had stormed off faster than he’d have thought possible for a tiny girl in a long dress and heels. Barely seconds had passed before he’d turned to follow her, but by the time he made it to the ballroom entrance, she was nearly halfway down a side hallway.

She didn’t seem to have a destination in mind; left, right, right again, left, until they were in such a remote part of the building that he was certain they weren’t supposed to be there.

She grasped at a doorknob — the sign on the wall said Events — and it turned in her hand. Dany stepped in and he followed her, moving to the center of the room. 

She shut the door behind him and turned to face him.

He noticed that they were in what appeared to be someone important’s office. There was a large mahogany desk in one corner, covered with all sorts of shit.

And then she spoke, and her voice sounded thinner than it had earlier.

“I didn’t even _want_ to come here with Theon,” she spat. “But you had a date, and he was the only one who seemed not to care that asking me to a dance might get them beaten up.”

“I _didn’t_ have a date,” he interrupted.

“Well, I thought you did!” she shouted back. “And everyone else did, too — even Theon. But by then everyone had heard you’re the one who busted Harrold Hardyng’s jaw over me, and no one else was willing to go near me.”

Her chest was heaving, the adrenaline leaving her body in pants. Inside him, something savage stirred.

“That’s because the rest of them are smart,” Jon sneered. “None of them deserve you.”

“Oh, and you do?” she asked, biting. Her chest was heaving from the exertion of their argument.

“Not even a little bit,” he replied. He stepped closer to her, until they were only inches from each other in the dark office. “Do you have any idea what I wanted to do when I heard Hardyng talk about taking you to a hotel room? Watching Theon rub himself against you?” 

Her breathing was unsteady — through the sheer, lavender chiffon, he could see that her nipples had hardened. A hot spike shot through him.

“My father’s wife always said that bastards were greedy. She was right. I am,” he said. “But there’s nothing I want more than you.”

She’d closed most of the distance between them, her body was pressed up against his so firmly that he could feel her short breaths.

“When you left the party that night, I couldn’t think about anything but having you,” he continued. “But you didn't seem affected at all. I’m sorry I ignored you,” he said in a low voice. “I just couldn’t control how much I wanted you.”

“Why do you think I left the party, Jon?” she asked breathily. “I kept dreaming about you taking me, waking up wet and panting for you — I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself if I stayed.” 

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. 

He was so turned on that he could barely see straight.

“You have no idea how much I want you,” she whispered, and he broke.

He wasn’t sure who moved first, but they crashed together in a mess of teeth and arms. Her hands were around his neck and — _fuck_ , she literally grabbed him by his hair and yanked.

He was shameless, his hands groped her ass over her gown and kneaded. The feeling of finally touching her again was almost too much to bear. He lifted her and carried her to the desk, desperate not to stop kissing her. She was making breathy noises against his mouth.

He noticed dumbly that Dany tasted like cinnamon whiskey and wondered when she’d taken shots without him. It was just about the only coherent thought he could pull off.

Until he realized she was loosening his tie.

He choked out her name as they kissed, and her reply was so soft that he might have read the movement of her lips against his. 

“I want you,” she breathed out.

He wanted to fuck her more than he’d ever wanted anything. Wanted to sink himself into her core and pound her until she was screaming, to make her cum over and over again until she couldn’t walk.

But Dany was important, his brain managed to piece together.

“Are you sure you want to do this here?” he asked, panting as he pulled back a bit. 

_‘Please say yes; please say yes.’_

She looked him straight in the eye, her skin covered in a light sheen of sweat.

“Shut the fuck up, Jon,” she replied. Then she reached down and rubbed him over his pants, and all his brain function ceased.

Before he could even process it, their mouths were fused together again and he was rutting against her, his cock straining as he unzipped the top of her dress. He paused only to slide the thin straps down, pushing the gown with them until it pooled at her waist and her tits sprung free. She hadn’t worn a bra. 

His mouth watered — Daenerys’s chest was better than he’d imagined as he laid in bed stroking himself all those nights. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against one globe, tongue licking around her pebbled nipple. Her entire body spasmed.

He pulled back for a moment, terrified he’d done something wrong, but when he caught her eyes, her pupils were blown wide.

She whispered in a thin, breathless voice, “Do that again.”

He nearly came on the spot.

Jon reattached his mouth to her tits, alternating between them, sucking and licking his way across her nipples and between the valley of her breasts until she was panting and her thighs were quivering on the desk.

“Jon, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she moaned as she arched her head back. Daenerys Targaryen was sin personified. 

He tried to channel someone more suave than himself, thought of some of the porn he’d watched: “You like that, Dany?” he whispered in her ear. She nodded furiously.

“That feels so good,” she choked out. “So, so good.”

He hadn’t even taken the bottom half of her dress off yet, and his cock felt like it was going to rip a hole in his pants. Or just make a mess of them.

Her hands reached forward and shakily began unbuttoning his shirt. As she got to the last button, the small digits grazed against him and he twitched.

Determined to see her naked, he reached for her dress and tugged at it, a guttural “Off. Now.” his only exhalation.

She wrapped an arm around his neck and lifted her ass off the desk long enough to slide the gown down her body. It dropped to the floor with a thud, and the only thing left to cover her was a black lace thong. He could see evidence of her wetness on her thighs.

It made his head spin.

He ran his fingers over the sides of the thong, where it rested on her hips.

“So fucking sexy,” he whispered. His eyes were dark. “Who’d you wear this for, Dany? Theon?” his voice was darker.

She rubbed her thighs against one another and _whimpered_ , and Jon realized with a sharp slap of clarity that she _liked_ him being possessive. He leaned back into her neck and moved his fingers down to rub her clit over the thong. It was soaked. 

_She_ was soaked.

“Well, Dany? Who was it for?” he said into her ear as he stroked her. “Me or Theon?”

Her whole body was shuddering now.

“You, just you. I would never have let Theon have me,” she said breathlessly. “I only came with him to piss you off. You’re the only one I want to touch me.”

His brain roared in triumph — she was so fucking perfect and _his_ , only his _._

He peeled the thong off of her and shoved it in his pocket in roughly, leaving her nude but for her heels.

Jon’s imagination really was shit, he realized. Even her pussy was nicer than he’d dreamed up. He stared at her body for a moment, her stomach taut and lean, calves lightly muscled, lips swollen, cheeks stained red. Her chest was heaving.

He pulled her forward so she was rested on the edge of the desks and dropped to his knees, his head between her legs. Without hesitating, he slicked his tongue over her cunt. Daenerys jerked so hard that she knocked a frame off the desk. 

He feasted on her, sliding his tongue around her nub, alternating between sucking and kissing as he went. She had his hair in a vice-grip and was incoherent, mumbling something in a different language that he suspected was Valyrian.

It took almost no time before her entire body was shaking, and with a final swipe of his tongue, she came — loudly, screaming.

It didn’t even occur to him to be concerned about noise — all he could focus on was how fucking incredible she looked coming apart above him, the taste of her juices on his lips.

She had barely come down from her high when she slid off the desk, boneless, and fell into him. He caught her as she wrapped her arms around him, sliding her knees down to straddle him.

The feeling of her with just his clothes between them was almost too much to take.

Daenerys seemed to agree. She trapped his ear between her teeth gently, and he felt his knees shake.

“I just came against your mouth, and you’ve still got your pants on,” she murmured in his ear. “They need to come off _now_.”

He didn’t think it was possible to agree more. He pulled at his belt sloppily, unzipping his pants and pushing them down in one motion. When his cock at last came free, he groaned with relief. The tip was already wet, beads of pre-cum smeared around the head.

Dany was looking at him hungrily. She was so fucking _incredible_ ; and somehow, she wanted him.

She took him in her hand, and his eyes fell shut at the feeling. A few strokes and then, without warning, he felt her lips around him and bucked involuntarily. He hadn’t wanted her to go down on him — had been afraid he’d cum too soon. 

He knew instantly that he was right; there was no way he’d be able to contain himself if she kept going. But there was no way he could stop her either; he and Ygritte had pawed at each other for a few weeks over the summer before they slept together for the first time, but he’d mostly gone down on her. Nothing had ever felt like this.

Jon chanced opening his eyes and his arms nearly gave out. 

Daenerys was staring right at him as she took him into her mouth, her cheeks hollowed as she sucked on him. How many times had he worked himself over to this very thought?

“Fuck. Fuck, Dany, stop or I’m gonna cum,” he said desperately. She hummed what sounded like a no around him, and the vibration made his eyes roll back into his head.

It wasn’t more than a minute later that he felt himself spill into her mouth, brain short-circuiting as she sucked on him through his orgasm.

He was pretty sure she had taken his very soul out of him as he collapsed uselessly beneath her, pulling her up to his chest to rest against him. 

She laid down on him but stared into his eyes, a curtain of her white-blonde hair falling forward.

“You are the most beautiful person in the entire world,” he said simply. 

She went a bit pink at the praise.

He kept babbling, telling her how perfect she was, how sexy, how badly he’d wanted her and for how long. It was entirely embarrassing.  
She adjusted herself until she was laying on top of him, and the feeling of her was enough to shut him up. “I really wanted to taste you,” she said as she grinned at him wickedly — “But I want to feel you, too. I guess I’ll just have to wait until you’re ready for another round.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her, softer than the bruising one they’d done earlier.

In one smooth motion, he rolled them over so that he was resting on top of her.

She was still tender from her first orgasm, but he rubbed her clit slowly, taking one of her tits back into his mouth.

After a few minutes, she was wet against his hand again, arching her back and muttering filthy things. He could feel himself stirring.

He slid a finger into her core, and then another, and she bucked against his hand.

“Tell me what you want, Dany,” he said. She just shook her head, beyond words.

When she tried to speak, they came out more as moans.

“Please,” she choked out. “Please, Jon.”

He couldn’t wait any longer either, he reached out wildly toward his abandoned pants, where his wallet lay, and pulled out a condom.

He slid it on and crawled back down her body, licking her cunt a few times. And then he lined himself up, and in one smooth motion, he was sheathed inside her.

She felt like being smothered by actual fire.

Her eyes had popped open when he filled her, and he was struck by some small inspiration. 

“Look at me, Dany,” he growled. She met his eyes bonelessly, whimpering as he held her gaze.

Jon lifted one of her legs and placed it on his shoulder, and the change in angle was so torturously good that he cried out.

Dany was incoherent as he pounded her, fragments of sentences all she could manage.

Fragments, and his name.

_Jon, Jon, Jon_.

And then he pulled out for a moment, flipping her over so she rested on her knees facing away from him, cunt exposed and dripping.

He slammed into her again, and her entire body trembled.

He was so close, he thought he might pass out, but he wanted her to cum again first.

Dany was bouncing back against his cock, body shaking and crying out.

He reached forward and rubbed his thumb over her once, twice, and she was falling apart, shouting his name, sending him over the edge. Her tight pussy milked him, clenching over and over, and for a moment, he thought he was seeing sounds.

They collapsed onto each other again, and he lay there holding her.

She laced their fingers together.

“Jon,” she said softly, a giggle in her voice. He turned to her, and she pointed above the door to the office.

A crucifix hung beneath a plaque holding a biblical passage.

It was from Numbers.

_Be sure your sin will find you out_.

**Author's Note:**

> Was a bit nervous to post this, but as a former Catholic school gal... sorry, not sorry? :X


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